Still a Beast at Bay
by Aseikh
Summary: While traveling south to Arrida, Will falls off the wolfship and swims to the nearest island. He finds that the island is occupied and seeks help from the people who live there. Instead of getting help, though, he finds himself thrown into a game of cat and mouse, and Will must survive three nights against a skilled hunter if he wants to see his family again.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N): This is my contribution for the Ranger's Apprentice Fanfiction Challenge over on AO3. I'm just posting it over here so all of my readers could have a chance to read this. If you're interested in joining in on the second RA fanfic challenge, we can either chat about setting up something similar here on FFN or y'all can join in over on AO3! Just let me know!**

**Either way, my piece got a little bit out of hand. This was meant to be a lot shorter than it was, so I'm uploading it in a few parts so it will actually be posted during the challenge. _Still a Beast at Bay _is a rewrite of the short story called _The Most Dangerous Game _by Richard Connell, but translated over into the RA world with Will getting stuck instead of Rainsford. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

Halt leaned against the side of the ship, looking across the dark sea and into the black fog that surrounded the ship. "There's an island out this way, somewhere," he muttered, eyes scanning the horizon that neither of them could see.

Leaning forward, Will looked up from his sitting position on the deck to his mentor and father. There wasn't much to do on the ship, and now that Halt was feeling better from his seasickness, Will had someone to talk to. He didn't know where Halt was going with this conversation, but he would take it over sitting in silence. "What island is it?" he asked, his mind going over the maps he had studied over the years. They changed often, but the area they were traveling through hadn't changed much. They were currently sailing past Iberion on their way to Arrida for treaty negotiations—their ship was already late, with the rest of their party already waiting for them at Al Shabah.

"Our maps left it unnamed," Halt said, shrugging, "but the Skandians call it 'Ship-Trap Island." As he said that, Will stood from his sitting position so he could look over the railing. He wanted to see if he could see the island. "It's a suggestive enough name and the Skandians have an odd dread of the place. Some of their old superstitions, I suppose."

Will frowned. "I can't see it." He was trying to peer through the dark night, the fog so thick that they could feel it passing them by. It left the wolfship in a thick, warm blackness that made Will's skin uncomfortable.

Halt snorted, shaking his head fondly at Will. "My eyes might not be what they were, but even you can't see four miles in fog like this."

"I can't even see four feet, let alone four miles, in this weather," Will grumbled, gesturing over the water. The further south they went, the warmer it got, but when the fog came out, they knew it would only get worse. "How can they steer a ship in this?"

"Very carefully," Halt sighed and looked over at Will. He knew why the younger man got restless aboard ships, a combination of nightmare fuel from his first ride to Skandia and being stuck in a limited area for a long time. Some mornings, Halt would find Will had climbed the mast and was helping the Skandians with raising or lowering the sail, and other days Halt would find Will hanging upside-down off the side of the ship. He had to stay occupied or else the memories would catch up. "It'll be better in Al Shabah, Will. Gundar said we should be there in a few days. We'll have time to deal with all the politics, catch up with Selethen and the Bedullin, and whatever else you want before we jump back on this damned boat."

Will crossed his arms along the railing of the boat and leaned over far enough to rest his chin on them. "Umar and Cielema told me in our last letters that they wanted to take me hunting in the deserts," he murmured, eyes searching in the dark. "I think they wanted to talk to me about something else, too, but they only really hinted at it."

Halt nodded his head, remembering when Will first told him about the letters from the Bedullin couple. Since they had saved Will years ago, the couple had grown close to Will, and always made sure to stay in contact with him and would take him out into their encampment for a few days whenever the Rangers had to come out to Arrida for whatever reason. It hadn't gone unnoticed to Halt the similarity Will had to other Arridan people—the color of his skin, the build of his face, his eyes. Halt had never really considered it, but when he thought back to it, he could have sworn that Will's mother had been Arridan, or at least from the southern area around Arrida. She had been brown-skinned, and it had translated over to Will. It was no wonder Will had felt some affinity towards the Bedullin people, and why they seemed to have the same sense towards him. Maybe that's what Umar and Cielema wanted to talk to Will about.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy hunting with them," Halt murmured, his mind far away into the past. "They're a good group to learn from."

Will gave Halt an odd smile, raising an eyebrow in his direction. "You saying that I don't know how to hunt?"

Halt shrugged and didn't answer Will's question. "Just be careful out in the desert, Will. I don't have to remind you what happened the first time you went out there."

"I know what I'm doing, Halt," Will laughed, "My first time may have been a wreck, but I've been fine since then."

"I don't mean that, Will," Halt said, "I'm talking about whatever Umar wants to hunt. There are some dangerous animals out there in the desert, and they're only more dangerous when they're afraid of something."

"Afraid of something—like the hunter, you mean?"

Nodding, Halt turned to look at Will closer. He knew Will wasn't stupid, but he couldn't help but remember what Umar had told him, quietly during the banquet after they'd been saved, how they had found Will and what had happened. "Maybe they're just an animal compared to us, Will, but I think they understand fear—the fear of pain and the fear of death."

Will smiled, sensing the change in his mentor. "That seasickness and this weather must've made you soft, Halt," Will murmured, his grin spreading. "There's the hunters and the huntees, and, luckily, we're both the former" Will looked away from the older Ranger and back out over the dark waters. "Do you think we've passed that island yet?" he said, changing the subject.

"I can't tell in the dark," Halt said gruffly, shaking his head at his young friend. "I hope so."

"Why?"

"It had a reputation—a bad one. I don't like the feel of that island, and I'd rather us get away from it as soon as possible."

Will's eyes widened, and he looked back out over the water. "Cannibals?" he asked, curiosity in his voice. Halt didn't even have to turn to look at Will to see the mischief in his eyes.

"Hardly," the older Ranger muttered, "Not even cannibals would live in such a horrid place. It's gotten into Skandian lore for a reason. Haven't you noticed how the crew's nerves seemed jumpy today?"

Will turned to study the Skandians that were working around them. Some were on break, but even they kept glancing over their shoulders and over the side of the boat Will and Halt were on. Gundar, at the rear of Wolfwill with the rudder, also seems slightly on edge, and he was still pushing the last shift of rowers past when he normally would have stopped. He wanted past that island. "Now that you mention it—"

"When I spoke to him, Gundar's eyes held a look I've never seen him with before, and all I could get out of him was 'this place has an evil name among sailors.'" Halt looked over to Gundar himself, his lips pursed. "And then he said 'Don't you feel anything?'—as if the air that touched that island was poisonous."

"Most Skandians are superstitious in some way," Will pointed out, eyes going back to Halt. "Even Erak has some old superstitions, Halt. It's just their imagination, and you've said much the same thing."

Halt snorted and pushed himself away from the railing. He looked at his former apprentice. "One superstitious sailor can taint the whole ship with fear, Will. Fear is infectious in tight quarters like these." Halt shook his head, putting a hand on Will's shoulder. "Sometimes I think Skandians and sailors have some extra sense to tell them of dangers while at sea. Either way, Will, I'm glad we're almost out of this area. I'm going to bed."

Will patted Halt's hand on his shoulder, nodding at his response. "I don't think I'm tired enough yet. I'll join you later, though," Will murmured, watching his mentor walk away. Smiling, he shook his head, entertained by the conversation. He knew what Halt had been saying, why he had said it, but Will had thought it fun to poke fun at Halt now that he wasn't terrified of his mentor. Glancing over to the Skandians, Will saw that Gundar was finally dismissing the last shift, meaning that they would rest for a few hours before the next one would take their places.

Moving back, Will sat back where he had been before the conversation with Halt had started. He leaned his back up against the cabin, stretching his legs up to rest on the railing just above his head height. It stretched his legs enough to feel satisfying, although he would have to move out of that position before too long. There wasn't much he could do to stay active on the ship, but he could stay flexible.

Suddenly, over the calm, black waters, a scream split the air.

Jerking up, Will turned in the direction he had heard the scream, ears straining for something more. Anything more. He placed a hand on the deck of the ship, feeling the ship go still as the final rowers got from their seats.

Slowly, he got fully to his feet, instincts kicking in to stay low, but to find the source of the scream. He moved along the side of the boat, but froze and went back to where he had been. Another scream came again, in the same general area the first had come from.

He noticed immediately that he was facing in the direction Halt had said the island was in. Absently, Will stepped up onto the railing, using a nearby rope hanging from the mast to keep his balance.

He waited, listening for the scream again.

There were some mutterings from behind him, the Skandians around him having heard the same thing too. He didn't glance back to see what they were doing, though, sensing they were moving around the ship. Gundar yelled something from the far side, but Will didn't pay attention to what he was saying, instead straining his ears for any other sounds. He considered waking Halt up, but decided against it. It was unlikely the Skandians would stop, so it wouldn't be their problem to deal with.

It still caught Will's attention, though, and he knew that after they were gone from the area, Will would be racking his brain for what that scream could have been.

Suddenly, the ship jerked underneath him, ripping Will's grip from the rope and knocking his otherwise firm stance from the thin railing. His back middled the railing as he fell, jarring him. He tried to reach around to grab something before he fell overboard, but before he could, his body hit the water and he went under.

Distantly, under the water, Will could hear the sounds of paddles hitting the water and pushing the ship away from him. The currents pulled him under the ship as it rocketed from it's still position, and Will, instead of fighting it, covered his head and waited for the current to let him go.

His head broke the surface just as he saw the wolfship disappear in the distance.

"HEY!" Will yelled, throwing his arms up in attempts to catch Gundar's or another Skandian's attention at the back of the ship. His legs kicked to keep him above the surface of the water, cold but not deathly. His hair stuck to his head as the water dripped down his face, and as he watched, Will realized that the ship wasn't going to come back for him. It was already far in the distance, the fog hiding even the light from the torches from him. He dropped his arms, letting the water fall still around him.

It was dead silent, he realized, noticing that he couldn't even pick out the sound of the rowing. The fog swallowed up all the noises around him, to the point where he didn't even know which direction he was facing.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Will muttered, turning in his spot, trying to see if anything was visible around him. He knew that, after a while, Halt or Gundar would realize that he wasn't aboard the ship. He also knew that the ship was probably just getting out of the general area after the screams had been heard, and that it would anchor for the night somewhere not too far. They would realize he wasn't there in the morning, and come back to where they had last seen him.

The only problem, Will realized, was that he couldn't tread the water for as long as it would take them to realize he was gone. He could do it for a few hours, sure, but it wasn't likely that in that time, Halt, who was asleep, or one of the Skandians, who had other things to worry about, would notice that he wasn't there.

Will would have to swim somewhere to wait for them to come back.

Reluctantly, Will wrestled himself out of his cloak, sensing that it was pulling him down. It would just soak up the water and make it impossible for him to get anywhere as he swam. It was water resistant, but not water proof, and he could feel that it was already getting heavier as the water soaked into it. He threw it out in front of him, hoping that it would float long enough for his friends to see it the next morning and to know that he had been there. He had no doubt that Halt would follow his logic, and force the Skandians to the closest landmass he could think of—Ship-Trap Island.

Halt had said it was some four miles away, but Will had heard the screams clear as day. He reckoned that, because of the fog, his mentor and the Skandians hadn't been able to gauge correctly, and that they were closer to the island than they thought. He hesitated for a moment, though, realizing that he had no idea what direction he was facing. It was too dark and the fog was blotting out all chances of using the moon or stars to navigate.

Will was stuck.

He couldn't just start swimming in any direction, knowing that it was possible he was just swimming out to sea. Or he could start swimming towards another coast, but it could be anywhere from hundreds of miles away. Swimming randomly was just asking for death.

He was considering his limited options when it happened again.

The scream ripped through the fog, coming from his right. Will swallowed, knowing that swimming in the general direction of the screams were his best bet of survival. But at the same time, Will didn't want to meet whatever was on that island, making or _causing_ the screams.

Will started swimming in that direction, knowing that he still had his knives on him and that he would be able to defend himself well enough. He could simply stay on the coast for the night, and hope that whatever was screaming or causing the screams would be more inland and not bother him. And if they did bother him, he thought as he swam, Will felt that he was more than prepared to deal with whatever he had to to survive the night.

Periodically as he swam, he heard other sounds steadily getting closer to him, and he used them to keep his course towards the island. Barking wolves or dogs, another scream, something falling into foliage. After a seemingly endless time of swimming, fighting the roiling waves the entire time, he heard the distinct sound of waves crashing on a shore.

Then, he heard the final scream of the night, just down whatever coast he had found, loud and animalistic and blood-chilling to his core. He froze in his swimming, treading against the waves to pinpoint where the scream was coming from. It kept going for much longer than the others—until, abruptly, it was cut short.

That made Will hesitate. Whatever had been screaming was definitely dead now, and he didn't know what was causing it. It could be possible that whatever was on the island was more deadly than staying in the water.

But even as that thought entered his mind, Will shook it away. He had been swimming for over an hour already, probably more. It had all blurred into one, monotonous pattern of kicking just a little further, pushing himself just a little longer. Even pausing to tread right off the shore was draining him, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to maintain this for much longer.

He had no choice. He had to go ashore Ship-Trap Island.

Will was almost on the rocks of the shore before he saw them; if the water had been any less calm, he probably would have been thrown against them before he could do anything, killing him before he could do anything. With his remaining strength, Will pulled himself from the water and onto the craggy, jutting outcroppings. He was tempted to just pass out right then and there, but his instincts told him to push himself further—he didn't know the tides here, and for all he knew, the waters would come up and swallow him while he was unconscious.

Pulling himself upwards, Will fell into another monotonous pattern. He could climb while practically asleep, he knew, and this was no different. He put one hand above him, found a foot rest, and pulled himself up, over and over until he made it to the top. He pulled himself up and over, crawling over the edge with his remaining energy.

He was in a dense, forest-like area. The familiar look of the place filled Will's mind, bringing him back home to Redmont and it's green forests. Instead of thinking to get to someplace safer and pushing himself just that much further, he collapsed where he was, on the edge of the precipice.


	2. Chapter 2

Will woke to the sun on his face, beating down on him enough for him to know that he would have a nasty sunburn. One look to the sun's position told him that it was late afternoon and that he had slept through the entire day.

Jerking up, his head swam, both from lack of food and lack of water. He had been laying mere inches from the edge of the cliff, and he could see the spreading ocean around him clear as day.

There was no wolfship waiting for him.

He tried to swallow, but coughed hard instead, his throat dry. He squinted, eyes scanning the horizon, hoping that the wolfship was just in the distance and that it was still looking for him.

But he still saw nothing.

His stomach grumbled, drawing his attention away from the water and to his surrounding area. He should be able to find food in the forest around him, he knew, but Will frankly didn't know if he had the energy to get up and find it. But he also knew that laying back down and falling back into unconsciousness would be as much as a death wish as if he had stayed treading in the waters where he had fallen.

He needed to get up.

With less grace than usual, Will turned onto his stomach and pushed himself to standing from there. He swayed, barely catching himself on a nearby tree. He tried to swallow again, his throat burning. He hesitated for a moment before letting his instincts take over. He put one foot in front of the other and walked into the forest.

Belatedly, Will realized he was following tracks in the dirt, a combination of human and animal tracks. He paused, his fuzzy mind trying to parse what the ground was trying to tell him. Dimly, he recalled the screams and the sounds that had led him to this island in the first place. Someone had been hunting something, and that told Will that there were people on the island. His mind didn't connect the screams to a human, though, so as he continued to follow the tracks, he believed he was going to find a group of hunters, and, hopefully, food and water.

As he walked, the sun behind him started to set, casting the forest around him with deep shadows. Will started to reach around him to pull his cloak tighter around his shoulders, but his hands grabbed empty air. He had left his cloak in the water, leaving him without protection and warmth. He had to find a place to rest or find the hunters before too long. He also knew, though, that if he stopped to rest, he might not get up the next day from pure exhaustion.

Will kept going.

It was fully night by the time he spotted lights in the distance. They showed themselves as he turned around the edge of a large boulder, and at first, he thought he had found a village. There were so many lights clustered in the same area, and he started forward, his mind going through what he would have to do. However, as he got closer, the angles and shapes around the lights started to come out, and he slowly realized, as he got closer and closer, that what was in front of him wasn't a village, but a chateau of decent size—a mansion.

He thought he was hallucinating it from hunger and thirst, up until he placed a hand on the short wall that held the front gate. It was as solid as he was.

Hesitantly, Will looked over his shoulder, just able to see the edge of the island and the water beyond where he was. He was still hoping to see the familiar side of the wolfship, but he saw nothing. Absently, he placed a hand on the iron gate that stood between him and the large, wooden mansion behind him. He could go back to the shore, find food in the forest while he waited. But his fuzzy mind and exhaustion told him that he was in no shape to go searching for food himself, especially not without his bow and cloak.

He needed help.

He barely had enough strength left to open the heavy iron gate, but he somehow managed, and slowly made his way to the front door. He could see lights in the open windows around the front door, could see someone moving around inside. He could smell something cooking.

At the front door, he lifted a heavy, iron knocker and let it fall. It nearly shocked him out of his daze with how loud and booming it was, and immediately he could hear footsteps coming towards the door. At the moment the door opened, Will reached around him and slid his knives to the small of his back, hidden from whoever opened the door. His cloak wouldn't be able to hide them, but they'd be hidden from immediate view.

The door opened suddenly, flying open to reveal someone as large, if not larger, than a Skandian. Will's eyes traveled up the man standing in front of him, instincts telling him to note down the man's looks. Something didn't feel right with this, especially on an island with such an evil reputation.

The man in front of him had thick black hair and beard, with dark, beady eyes that seemed to look through him to his soul. He held a giant crossbow in one hand as the other held open the door, and the barbed bolt that was loaded into it was pointed straight at Will's heart.

Again, Will swallowed.

Slowly, he raised his hands to show that he held no weapons.

"Don't shoot," Will said, his voice barely above a whisper and cracking. He hadn't had anything to drink since he had had dinner with Halt and Gundar two nights ago, and the ocean spray that he had inadvertently swallowed while swimming didn't count. "I just need help. My name is Will, I—"

The man growled and pushed the crossbow closer to Will. Alarmed, Will stumbled back a step, his throat suddenly stuck. The man's eyes looked angry, almost wolf-like, and for a moment, Will thought he was going to die from a random man on a random island in the middle of nowhere, and that simply pissed him off. He'd survived much worse, and that he would die to something as trivial as this was infuriating.

"Please, my name is Will, I fell off a boat, and I need help. I don't mean any harm, I just—"

The man's finger went towards the trigger, and Will considered his limited options. He was trapped, as far as he could tell, and he would die to this man.

"Toros, you can't just go around answering the door with your damned crossbow out," came a voice, speaking accented common tongue. Will's mind placed the accent as Iberion before ever seeing the speaker. The man—Toros, apparently—stepped back, dropping the loaded crossbow to his side without a word. He stepped to the side of the door, revealing another man, this one only slightly bigger than Will. Before Will could register the man, he jutted his hand out to greet Will.

Will froze, studying the man in front of him. He was an older man, probably about Halt's age, if not older. He was tall and had white hair that contrasted with the servant's black hair, but also his own black mustache. He had thick eyebrows and an almost military look to him in how he stood and held himself, his back straight and his shoulders thrown back. His eyes were somehow both bright and black, framed with high cheekbones, a sharp nose, and a pale face.

Hesitantly, Will took the outstretched hand, sure that if he didn't, the bigger man would straight up shoot him.

"I am General Zaven, but you can just call me Zaven," the new man said, vigorously shaking Will's hand. "And you, my friend, look to be one of those famous Araluen Rangers."

Will said nothing, internally frowning at Zaven's statement. How did he know that Will was a Ranger?.

"You said your name is Will?" Zaven said, pulling Will up the steps and into the mansion. "You don't look so good, what did you say happened to you? You fell off a boat?" Zaven's arm went around Will's shoulders, his other still holding on tightly to Will's hand.

Before Will could say anything else, the door closed with a soft click behind him, and Toros moved to stand directly in front of it, his crossbow still loaded and ready. As he turned to look at the door, he realized that Toros, the servant, would be able to see Will's weapons clearly.

"Oh, don't mind him, Will, he's just protective of me," Zaven said cheerfully, patting Will's shoulder. "Now, tell me whats happened to you. Take a seat here," he said, gesturing towards a bench that was nearby. Will was sitting in it before he realized what Zaven had said, the man had led him there and sitting him down before he could process it.

"I fell off the boat I was traveling on," Will said, eyes scanning the room he was in. His mind had been foggy before, but now that he was in the new place, he was suddenly alert. His hackles were raised, and he didn't know what was around the corner from him.

The room itself was large, with a tall ceiling and a fancy chandelier hanging above his head. It was obviously imported from somewhere, but Will's mind either didn't care where it was from or didn't want to work overtime when he was already exhausted. There was a grand staircase that swirled to the next level just behind where the bench was seated, and it was carpeted in a rich red color that told Will that the carpet itself was worth more money than Will would ever see in his life.

It didn't take a lot of work to figure out that something wasn't right with the two men and their palatial cottage seated in the center of an infamous island.

"And you swam here?" Zaven asked, voice incredulous. Will couldn't tell, but he sensed that the man wasn't actually surprised or shocked. "When did this happen? We can still flag down your ship, I'm sure. Toros—"

"It was the night before, actually," Will cut in, not wanting to bother the man when he knew it wasn't worth it. "I made my way to this island and passed out. I only just woke up, and my ship is nowhere to be seen, unfortunately."

Zaven's eyes bore into him, studying him. And then, he spoke. "Well, that's a shame. I'm sure they'll come back for you, my friend, and until then you're welcome here. But that leaves me with a question—what's an Araluen Ranger doing so far south?"

Will's hand flew to his throat, feeling to see if his oak leaf had fallen out of his collar. It hadn't, his collar still shut despite everything he had gone through, and the little silver necklace was still hidden behind his shirt. "How'd you know I'm a Ranger?" Will asked softly, eyes swiveling to check where Toros was. He was still at the door, hand still holding the crossbow at his side.

"Why any man of military training would recognize one of you Rangers anywhere—except, outside of a forest, possibly." Zaven paused, and Will frowned at that. That was completely against most of what the Ranger training was for and didn't make sense. Will was about to call him on that when the man continued, a mischievous smile just visible underneath his large mustache. "Will, your double-scabbard is unique to your group, and even though you pushed it to your back, I couldn't help but notice your weapons."

This time, Will didn't move to check his weapons. He could feel them pushing into the small of his back and knew that they were there. The fact that the man didn't disarm him, though, slowly put Will to ease. This … Zaven … knew he had weapons on him, and didn't take them away from him, despite not knowing who he was or what his purpose was there. Hesitantly, Will nodded to the man, indicating that he understood his logic.

Zaven smiled and stood quickly before Will could say anything else. He slapped a hand on Will's shoulder again, jarring him. "Come," he said, pulling Will up from his seat. "We shouldn't just be chatting here. We can talk later. I'm sure you want a change of clothes, food, water, rest. You will have them—as I said, you're welcome here until your ship comes back to retrieve you, as I'm sure they're missing you by now."

Toros appeared at Will's shoulder, and Will's host spoke to him quickly and quietly in Iberion. Will knew some of the language, but Zaven spoke fast, too fast for Will to follow, and before he knew what was going on, Zaven was backing away.

"Follow Toros, if you please, Will," he said, gesturing up the stairwell. "I was about to have my dinner when you came, and I'll wait for you. Toros will take you to one of our guest rooms, where I'm sure he'll be able to find some extra clothes to fit you so your's can be washed."

Then, Zaven was gone, turning a corner into one of the adjoining rooms, leaving Will alone with Toros and his crossbow once again.

Without a word, the man started up the stairs, not even bothering to check if Will was following. The Ranger hesitated for a moment, looking around him to see if there were any other options. He could just … follow his host to wherever he had gone or wander into different rooms. Will had no doubt that with how big the place was, he could wander the chateau without being found until he saw the familiar shape of Wolfwill in the waters nearby. If there were really only two people in the huge place, there was no doubt that he could manage that.

But the idea of clean clothes, a good meal, and an actual bed—especially after sleeping in the ship's bed for the past week—sounded amazing to Will.

After the moment's hesitation, Will mounted the steps after the bigger man, hoping that he wasn't walking into a waiting crossbow bolt.

* * *

Thankfully, it wasn't a trap. Three floors up, Toros turned left down a long hall and opened up the room at the far end. It opened on a room that seemed fit for King Duncan, which didn't seem right with how filthy Will felt at that moment. But he didn't argue with it, not when the man who had led him there had a fist that could crush Will's skull.

Will stepped into the room, eyes going over the fine woodwork. He heard the door shut behind him, but he paid that no mind as he studied the room. There was a large window just in front of him, and against the wall to his right was an even larger bed, framed in beautiful dark oak that was carved with swirls that resembled the ocean waves. There was also a dresser with a large mirror on it—which shocked Will, as mirrors were expensive by themselves, but the woodwork around it told Will that the mirror was made into the frame.

How much money did Zaven have? There was no way he could have gotten all of this money legally, or else he wouldn't have this beautiful, completely decked out home in the middle of nowhere on a ship known for being … dangerous, at the least.

Spotting a jug of water at the side of the bed, Will moved forward, his throat burning. Learned from his times in Arrida, Will let the water trickle down his throat first, letting it moisten his lips and dry mouth first. He paused, allowing his body to relax into the refreshment, because the water tasted so good, and it was only his remaining willpower that kept him from choking it down right away and possibly shocking his body.

A few minutes later, after having taken more than a few sips of water, there was a knock at his door. Will stood, caught himself on the post of the bed as he swayed, lightheaded, and moved to open the door. Just as Zaven had promised, Toros stood there with a change of clothes for him, ones that looked far too fancy for him. Will said nothing though and quietly took the clothes from the large man's grip.

"Thanks," Will murmured, and shut the door.

He thought for a moment but then opted to take off everything—including his belt. He slid the belt and his knives underneath the soft mattress, not wanting to lose them and intending to clean them later that night. All of his other clothes he simply left laid out on his bed, assuming Toros would come back in to collect them for cleaning. Immediately, he noticed how silky and soft the borrowed clothes felt, and they made his skin itch. He was used to the coarser materials that were used for his Ranger uniforms, not fancy materials like whatever was used for this shirt and pants. There wasn't much he could do, though, and instead opened the door, and went in search of the dining room.

The dining room ended up being the room in which Zaven had gone into when he had left Will, making it easy to find from his room. Interestingly, the clothes Toros had supplied Will, while used, had been a near-perfect fit, if only a little long with the legs and sleeves of his shirt. That was to be expected, though, as Will was slightly shorter than the average man and was used to it.

Zaven eagerly waved him to a seat across the table from him, and Will saw instantly that only two places were set. At the table was roasted venison, something Will had only had at Castle Araluen, and next to it was a glass of what looked to be wine. There was also water sitting next to it though, so Will figured he would stick to that—he didn't hate the taste of alcohol, but after the last day he'd had, Will didn't want his mind to be even fuzzier than it already was.

"Please, sit. Eat. I'm sure you're starving," Zaven said, digging into his plate himself. Toros was nowhere to be seen.

Seeing Zaven start to eat, Will started to himself. He was starving, and although he tried to mask exactly how hungry he was, he couldn't help but start inhaling the food. He had already drunk all the water in his guest room, gotten partially cleaned up, and now he just needed to see to his empty stomach. As he ate, though, Will didn't let himself get too distracted, making sure to keep an eye on Zaven. A few minutes of silence brought Toros into the room, his hands empty but a new weapon at his side—a pair of hatchets hooked to his belt.

Will's mind went to Gilan's sarcastic lesson all those years ago in Celtica, telling Will to jump off a cliff instead of letting himself get destroyed by an axeman.

He instantly regretted leaving his knives in his room, even if there was no logical way for him to hide his knives on his person without his sheaths.


	3. Chapter 3

"Now, my friend," Zaven said suddenly, drawing Will's attention back to him. Had Zaven been watching Will as much as Will had been watching him and Toros? "We do our best to stay connected to the mainland out here," he started, waving his fork in the air, "but we're not perfect, so please forgive any lapses. We _are _well off the beaten track, if you couldn't tell." Zaven flashed Will an odd smile.

Thinking he was going to continue, Will didn't say anything at first, but when Zaven didn't continue, Will quickly swallowed his bite. "No, ah, Zaven. I'm used to much less than this, actually. Thank you for your hospitality and willingness to help me."

His host smiled, eyes never leaving Will as he took another bite. "I recall you being shocked at me knowing that you were a Ranger, Will, and I'd like to explain that. Before I simply said that any military man would recognize a Ranger, and I pointed out your double scabbard. What I didn't say was that I was apart of a … group of military men who occasionally worked with Rangers. I'm sure you're too young to have been around when this happened, but working with you Rangers was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life."

Will slowly nodded, even if that didn't sound right to him. Zaven looked around Halt's age, maybe older, but that would mean that Zaven had worked with Rangers around … Morgarath's time. When they were disbanding the Rangers. He didn't want to offend his host in case his position here was tenuous, so instead, he said: "What do you do now?"

"I'm a simple hunter," Zaven said, smiling. He gestured around the room vaguely. "I have many hunting trophies around this place, mostly in the library. I used to travel around the world to hunt the most dangerous beasts in the area, and I have won—every time."

Tipping his head, Will reached for his glass of water. _Simple, my ass, _Will thought to himself. The entire place didn't add up to Zaven being a 'simple hunter.' Maybe his history with whatever he did in Iberion could explain it, but otherwise Will couldn't think of anything that could explain the man's apparent wealth. "Like what? I've not traveled much in my time."

"Oh, just around, you know. I've been out to Nihon-Ja and further, the Eastern Steppes, and into the Endless Ocean. I once went for something called an 'elephant,' you know, and it nearly killed me. I was hurled against a tree. But I got him in the end, and I got that tusk behind you." Will had noticed the giant thing behind him when he had come in, but his mind hadn't processed what it was. But now that Zaven said that, it connected. It was a wide arch, one tip flat and worn, while the other end was a dulled point. It was a cream white color, and nearly as long as the table they sat at. Before Will could say anything, Zaven continued. "But that elephant wasn't the worst thing I've gone against. I prefer to hunt more dangerous game."

Will's mind went back to the screams he had heard last night. Had they been animals? "There's big game on this island?"

"Not naturally, if that's what you're wondering," Zaven said, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"You have people … transport these animals for you?" That didn't make much sense to Will. Wouldn't catching and restraining these so-called dangerous animals be more dangerous than hunting and killing it?

"… In a way," Zaven said, pushing his empty plate away from him. Will's plate had been empty for the majority of their conversation, but now that Zaven was done, the man leaned forward from across the table and offered what looked to be a cigar to him. "Smoke?"

"No, thank you," Will murmured, smiling tightly. Zaven nodded, and took the cigar he had held out and put it to his own lips. Toros stepped forward to light it.

Will watched as Zaven took a few puffs of the cigar, the man seemingly oblivious to the smoke coming from it.

"Now you and I, Will, would have some truly remarkable hunting expeditions. From my knowledge of the Rangers, you lot have some skill with the—the what, long bow?" Will nodded, unsure where the conversation was being taken. At this point, Will was comfortable to let Zaven continue talking, as he didn't know what the man expected of him. "And you hunt, sometimes, for your occupation?"

Again, Will nodded. "When we need food and we're out in the field, yes."

"That's not the only thing you use your bows for, though, is it?"

This time, Will shook his head. "We use them as weapons, just as a knight uses a broadsword."

Zaven's grin spread wider, to a point that it creeped Will out. "I'd like to tell you of a new form of hunting that I've invented, Will. I think you'd quite like it, just from your line of work and what I've seen of you."

"Some men are made poets. Some are made Kings, some beggars. As I said, I was made a Hunter. My hand was made to pull the trigger of a crossbow, and my father told me that when I was young. He was a noble, no royalty or anything of the like, and he had lots of land on the coast of my homeland of Iberion. When I was five, he gave me a miniature crossbow, specially made for me to shoot birds with. I shot one of his prize hunting hawks, you know, and instead of punishing me, he complimented me on my marksmanship. I killed my first bear up in the savage Skandia while on a trip there with my father when I was ten. My whole life has been one prolonged hunt, I like to think. I went into the Iberion army—it was expected of noblemen's sons—and I commanded a division of their cavalry and obtained the rank of general, but my real interest was always the hunt. I've hunted every kind of game in every discovered land, and even some undiscovered lands. It would be impossible for me to tell you how many animals I've killed."

Zaven took another puff of his cigar. Will kept his mouth shut, watching the man.

"After a whole coup in Iberion—I don't know if you heard about it or really care, but it was some time ago—it was imprudent for an officer of the former ruler to stay. Many nobles from Iberion lost everything, but my family was lucky. I was connected with a few others, both Iberions and other foreigners, and I traveled for some time to hunt and visit friends. As soon as I was healed from that elephant, I was out in Arrida hunting their lions. I had heard that they were cunning. They weren't." Zaven sighed, shaking his head. "They were no match for a hunter with his wits about him, and a high-powered crossbow. I was disappointed, to say the least. I was lying in my tent with a splitting headache one night when a terrible thought pushed its way into my mind. Hunting was beginning to bore me! And hunting, remember, had been my life. I didn't know what to do with my life. You know the feeling, Will?"

Will nodded without saying a word. He had a feeling Zaven would get to the point of this monologue soon. He just had to sit through whatever this man was going to say, and then he could get some rest and be out the door the next day. He was sure that Halt had noticed his absence by now, it was just a matter of them _finding _him.

"I had no wish to fall to pieces like that," he said, continuing with barely seeing Will's response. "I had to do something. Now, mine is an analytical mind, Will, as I'm sure you can relate. Doubtless that is why I enjoy the problems of the chase so much."

"Sure," Will murmured, sipping the remaining water from his glass.

"So, I asked myself why the hunt no longer fascinated me. You are much younger than me, Will, so I'm sure you haven't hunted for as long as I have, but perhaps you can guess the answer?"

Will was silent for a moment, acting as if he were thinking the question through. Before too long had passed, though, Will was shaking his head. "What was it?"

"Simply the fact that hunting was no longer what some would call a … a sporting proposition. It became too easy. I always got my quarry. I was the perfect huntsman, Will, and there is no greater bore than perfection."

Zaven lit another cigar, his first one now ashes in the tray in front of him. Will couldn't help but notice the smoke gathering in the room around him, even if it was only from one cigar. He knew he wouldn't be able to get the smell out of his nostrils for days to come and he was glad he wasn't wearing his own clothes.

"No animal had a chance with me anymore and I don't mean to brag with that. It's simply the truth, unfortunately, as the animals had nothing buttheir legs and instinct, and their instinct is no match for reason. It was certainly a tragic moment when I realized this, Will." Zaven waved the cigar around him, as if he were trying to make a point. "It came to me as an inspiration what I must do." Will's host leaned forward suddenly, half his body over the table. Zaven stared at Will with wild eyes, the odd grin still there.

"And that was?" Will said, unable to take his eyes away. He knew that the general was leading him through the conversation, asking him questions when he wanted a response and ignoring him when he just wanted to talk.

"I had to find or invent a new animal to hunt," Zaven said quietly, just loud enough for Will to hear.

"A new animal?" Will said, incredulous. "You're joking."

"Not at all," Zaven said, leaning back into his chair. There was a satisfied smirk on his face, as if he got the right reaction from Will. "I never joke about hunting. I needed a new animal, Will, and I found one. So I bought this island and had this house built here with the last of my money from my father's Iberion status, and I do my hunting here. The island is perfect for my purposes—there's thick forests that are natural mazes, hills, swamps—"

"But what animal could you have possibly found?" Will interrupted. At this point he was just confused and saw that his host was eager for the questions and disbelief. If the man was rigging the conversation, Will was willing to lean into it as far as possible to get the information he needed.

Instead of answering, the man nodded. "It supplies me with the most exciting hunting in the world. No other hunting even compares. Every day I hunt and I never grow bored now, for I have a quarry that matches my wits."

That's when it clicked for Will.

His blood went cold.

"I wanted the ideal animal to hunt," Zaven continued, not noticing Will's chance in demeanor. "So I asked, 'What are the attributes of an ideal quarry?' And the answer was that it must," Zaven began to tick off his fingers, "courage, cunning, and," he paused to stare at Will for the last finger, "it must be able to reason."

"No animal can reason," Will said quietly, his voice hoarse. He had no more water to drink and he wasn't going to touch the wine.

"My friend," Zaven said. He was looking directly at Will now, and there was no way he didn't see Will's distress. "There is one that can."

"What you're speaking of isn't _hunting," _Will snapped, hands curling into fists below the table. "That's _murder."_

Zaven laughed, a great guffaw that filled the room. He studied Will with a quizzical look in his eyes before shaking his head. "Now I refuse to believe that someone like you, Will, a _Ranger_, harbor such romantic ideals about the value of human life. Surely your experiences in Araluen's wars—"

"Do not make me at all likely to condone cold-blooded murder," Will finished stiffly. He wanted to leave. There had been a desk and chair in his room, and Will was already thinking about how he could escape the dining room and either get back up there or get out of the house entirely. He could use the desk chair to block the door to keep Zaven and Toros out, or escape. He could get new knives, he didn't have to go back to his room—or, he could protect himself with the ones he already had by going back to his room.

"How—How _droll_ of you to say! I didn't expect someone like _you, _an _educated_ young man, to have such outdated points of view." Zaven was shaking his head, a disgusted frown on his face as he continued to study Will. "I'm sure you'll forget these ideas when you go hunting with me. You've a genuine new thrill in story for you, Will, truly."

Will couldn't help but notice that Zaven said '_when_ you go hunting' instead of _if. _"I hunt, sometimes," Will said, keeping his voice firm and not letting any of his fears and worries show. "But I'm not a murderer. I'm _not_ going hunting with you."

This time Zaven actually rolled his eyes. "Again with that word, Will. But really, I believe that I can prove to you that your worries are unfounded."

"Oh?" Will said back, shifting in his chair. He would have thought that Zaven would have him taken away or gotten angrier by now, but instead the man just kept talking.

"Life is for the strong, to be lived by the strong, and, if necessary, taken by the strong. The weak of the world were put here to give the strong pleasure. I am strong. Why should I not use my gift? If I wish to hunt, why should I not? I hunt the scum of the earth: sailors from ships—sometimes Skandians if I'm lucky—and we both know that a thoroughbred battlehorse or hound with worth more than a score of them."

Will suddenly felt sick. This man was talking about hunting people that he deemed _lesser_. He knew that Zaven completely misunderstood Will's role as a Ranger if he thought Will would be okay with that—Will always tried to _help_ the weaker people. What Zaven was talking about was basically killing them for not being able to defend themselves. "They're _people,_" Will said hotly, "Just because you think you're better than them doesn't mean—"

"They're people, precisely," Zaven cut him off, setting down the remains of his cigar with a hostile deliberateness. "That's why I use them. It gives me pleasure—they can reason, somewhat, so they are dangerous." Suddenly, he stood. "Come to the window with me, Will."

At first, Will didn't move. But then he saw Toros start to move towards him and he realized he didn't have much of a choice. He stood, walked around the table in the opposite direction of Toros, and joined Zaven at the window he had been sitting in front of.

"Watch out there," Zaven said, pointing out into the darkness.

Will's keen eyes saw only blackness at first. But after a moment of adjusting to the dark, he picked out a flash of light—lanterns, marking where there was a channel opening and where the coast was. Just from his short time on the island, Will knew that those lanterns were a lie—there was no channel opening there, only sharp rocks that would crush the hull of a ship in a matter of moments.

"They indicate a channel," Zaven said, voicing what Will knew, "where there's none. Rocks with razor edges crouch like a sea monster with wide jaws. They can crush a ship as easily as I crush this nut." He dropped a walnut on the wood flooring and brought his heel down on it, grinding it to dust. "Of course, if they'd gone the right way around the island, they would have found the proper lanterns that marked an actual channel. Only the dumb ones get caught—we try to be civilized here."

"Civilized?" Will said, "And yet you shoot down men?"

A trace of anger flashed in the general's dark eyes, but it was there for little more than a second. He said in an extremely fake, pleasant manner, "What a righteous young man you are! I can assure you, Will, that I do not do the thing you suggest. That would be barbaric. I treat these visitors with every consideration. They get plenty of good food and exercise. They get into splendid physical shape, and you will see for yourself tomorrow."

_I don't intend to be here tomorrow, _Will thought. "What do you mean?" he said instead.

"We'll visit my training school," Zaven said, smiling. "It's in the cellar, just below us. I have about a dozen pupils down there now. They're from some Gallican ship that had some bad luck on the rocks out there. A sadly inferior lot, I might add. Poor specimens, more accustomed to the deck than the forest." If Will hadn't been sure he'd get a hatchet in the back, he would have said something—instead, he bit his tongue, rage slowly building.

"It's a game, you see," the general continued blandly, not even bothering to look in Will's direction. "I suggest to one of them that we go hunting. I give him a supply of food and a top-quality hunting knife. I provide a three hours' head-start. I follow behind them, armed only with a crossbow of high power and short range. If my quarry eludes me for three whole days, he wins the game. If I find him—" Zaven smiled, "—he loses."

"And if he refuses?" Will said, his voice flat. He stared out the window, refusing to meet Zaven's gaze, even as it burned into the side of his head.

"Oh," Zaven said, "I give him an option, of course. He doesn't have to play the game if he doesn't want to. If he doesn't wish to hunt, I simply turn him over to Toros, who has his own idea of sport. Invariably, my friend, they choose to hunt with me."

Will tasted bile rising in his throat. Just solely from the man's size and his preference for an odd range of weapons, he had no doubt that most people surrendered to him _would _prefer hunting with General Zaven. "And if they win?" he asked, needing to know how far Zaven took this idea. If he thought it through all the way to the point in which _he _lost.

"To date, I have not lost," he said simply, Zaven's smile widening. "Of course, I don't wish for you to see me as a braggart," he added hastily, "Many of my quarries are little more than practice. Occasionally I find one that is a slight challenge. One almost did win. I eventually had to use the dogs."

"The dogs?" _What kind of fair chance is that if he uses dogs?_ Will thought, mind picking apart everything the man before him was saying.

"I'll show you," Zaven said, motioning Will to another window. They walked out of the dining room, across the entryway of the mansion and into the sitting room. The window at the far end was large, and looked down into what seemed to be the fenced area around the entire mansion. It was only by the light coming from the window that illuminated the shifting patterns in the courtyard below. Will could see a dozen or so moving shapes gathering just outside of the window's light. They were huge, black, with glittering eyes that stared right back at him.

"A rather good lot," Zaven mused to himself, "Toros lets them out every evening, so if someone were to try and force their way into my house … or out of it … something extremely regrettable would occur. You were only a few moments off from having that fate if Toros hadn't heard your knock, I'm afraid you would have been in the most unfortunate circumstance." He hummed a short tune to himself, one that Will for once didn't recognize.

Suddenly, the humming cut off and Zaven turned a curious eye on Will. "Would you like to see my collection of heads?" he asked bluntly, with no indication of what _kind _of heads he was talking about. "They're displayed in the library. An impressive collection, I must say."

"I hope," Will said quietly, his voice low and throat dry, "that you will excuse me tonight, General Zaven. I'm not feeling the best at the moment."

"Oh, really?" the man inquired, "Well, I hope it wasn't the food. It must've been your long swim, no doubt. Go, get a good, restful night's sleep. Tomorrow you'll feel like a new man, I'll bet. Then, we'll hunt, eh? I'm sure—"

Will was out of the room before Zaven even finished his musing.

"Sorry you can't go with me tonight," Will heard being called through the mansion, the man's voice echoing in the large area. "I expect a rather fair sport—a big, strong, Arridan. He looks resourceful—Well, good night, Will, I hope you have a good night's rest."

Returning to his rooms, Will shut the door and leaned his back up against it. His chest heaved, panic finally overwhelming him as his mind finally went through all that he had learned. Will was trapped on an island with a man who kidnapped and murdered other humans for fun. For _sport. _And he wanted Will to take part in it.

Taking a deep breath, Will pushed himself from the door, first checking that the door was locked. He would reinforce the lock with a chair before he went to bed, but first, he felt the need to arm himself. He still had his knives, his trusty saxe and throwing knife. He wasn't entirely stuck, no, he would have those to defend himself if something happened.

Will lifted the edge of the mattress, kneeling down to reach underneath for where he pushed the belt and sheaths. His hand met empty space. He felt around the immediate area, feeling for the familiar, worn leather of the belt.

It was gone.

As quietly as he could, Will stood, lifting the rest of the mattress with him, thinking maybe he had put it in another area, maybe towards the bottom or further in than he'd thought.

There was _nothing_ underneath the mattress.

Will was unarmed.

* * *

Zaven didn't appear until after midday, joining Will for a small lunch in the dining room they had been in last night. He was dressed in a white shirt and black pants with knee-high boots and Will couldn't help but notice the hunting blade at his hip.

Throughout the night, Will had tossed and turned, hearing passing footsteps by his room, as if Toros was monitoring if he left or not. The dogs outside howled every once and a while, and at one point, went wild, going after something that had fallen into their territory. Will heard the squeals and cries of the animal as it was torn to pieces. He hadn't felt well enough to eat breakfast that morning, but lunch had been basic and small enough that he'd been able to force it down. Earlier, before Zaven had come, Will had been going to different windows, seeing if he could see if the Skandian ship was anywhere he could see. So far, he hadn't found it, and Zaven's arrival meant that he wouldn't be able to continue watching.

"As for me," the general sighed, breaking into Will's thoughts, "I do not feel so well, Will. Last night, I detected traces of my old complaint."

Will frowned, but didn't respond.

Seeing his confusion, Zaven said, "Ennui. Boredom." The man leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of whatever he was drinking. Probably wine. Will's coffee from that morning, provided by Toros, had gone cold. "The hunting wasn't so good last night. The man must've lost his mind, following a single, straight trail that offered no challenges at all. That's the problem with these sailors, I've found. They have dull brains to begin with and do not know how to get about in the woods. They do excessively stupid and obvious things, which is the most annoying. Would you like another cup of coffee, my friend?"

"Zaven," Will said firmly, ignoring the question. "I'd like to leave this island. My family is most likely waiting for me, and—"

"But, Will, you've only just come!" Zaven sat forward, eyebrows raising. "You've had no hunting, no—"

"I wish to go today," Will said again. He looked into the dead, black eyes of the general, studying him. His eyes reminded Will of Morgarath.

Zaven's face suddenly brightened and he waved a hand for Toros. The man came in at Will's elbow seconds later, replacing his cold cup of coffee with a steaming one. Will still didn't touch it.

"Tonight, then," Zaven said, "we will hunt—you and I."

Will shook his head. "No, general. I will not hunt."

Now the general shrugged, delicately popping a grape into his mouth. "As you wish, my friend," he said. "The choice rests entirely with you. But may I not point out that I'm sure you'd enjoy my hunt more than Toros'?" Zaven nodded to the corner that Toros had retreated to, the man's hands falling to the twin hatchets as Will glanced over to him.

Will's nails dug into his thigh. He hadn't been sure what Zaven had been planning for him, and he'd known that this was in the realm of possibilities. But that didn't stop his throat from catching, panic rising in his throat as he processed the threat.

"You mean—" Will choked out, his fear getting the better of him. With his knives, sure, he could possibly handle Zaven, but Toros posed a challenge. Without his knives, he honestly wasn't sure.

"My friend," Zaven said, "have I not told you I always mean what I say about hunting? This is really an inspiration, truly. I drink to a foe worthy of my steel—a _Ranger, _no doubt. At _last._" Zaven raised his glass, motioning for Will to do the same with his coffee. He didn't, still frozen in his seat.

"You'll find this game worth playing," the general said enthusiastically, "Your wits against mine. Your woodcraft against mine. Your strength and stamina against mine. Like outdoor chess! And the stake is not without value, eh?"

"And if I win—" Will began, but Zaven quickly interrupted him.

"I'll cheerfully acknowledge my defeat if I do not find you by midnight of the third day," he said, placing his cup back down to the table. "My skiff will place you on the mainland near a town." Will's eyes narrowed, not trusting the words that the general was saying. The man must've caught on, because he next said, "Oh, you can trust me. I give you my word as a gentleman and a hunter. Of course, you will, in turn, agree to say nothing of your visit here."

"I'll agree to nothing of the kind," Will snapped, his anger overtaking him for a moment.

"Oh," said the general, "in that case … but why discuss it now, actually? Three days from now, we'll discuss it over a glass of wine, unless—" Zaven sipped from his glass.

When he continued, though, he didn't finish his sentence. Will knew what he meant by that _unless, _though. _Unless you _die, it said.

"Toros will return your clothing and knives to you, as well as provide some food for three days. Your Ranger equipment is more than suitable for this game. I suggest, since you don't know the area, to avoid the big swamp in the southeast corner of the island. We call it Death Swamp, as there's quicksand over there. One foolish fellow tried it, and one of my prize dogs tried following him. I'm sure you can imagine my feelings, Will. Well, I must ask that you excuse me now, I always take a long break after lunch. You'll hardly have time for a nap, I fear. You'll want to start, I assume? I won't follow until dusk, as hunting at night is so much more exciting than by day—don't you agree? Goodbye, my dear friend … goodbye." General Zaven left the room with a simple bow, leaving Will alone with Toros.

The big man stepped forward when Will didn't move, arms suddenly full of Will's old clothing and his knives. He held the weapons, clothing, and a bag of food out to Will as his free hand dropped to one of the two hatchets at his belt.


	4. Chapter 4

With his heart in his throat, Will sprinted through the forest, not daring to look behind him. _Stay calm, stay calm,_ he kept telling himself, even as the panic threatened to overwhelm him.

When the gates of Zaven's mansion closed behind him, his only thought had been to get as far away from that madman as fast as he possibly could. He threw all of his training off the cliff, ignoring the fact that his tracks would be clearly visible in the dirt and mud from the speed and pressure he was putting into his legs. A child could follow him in the dark, he realized.

Zaven wouldn't even have to blink.

Pulling himself to a stop, Will doubled over, trying to catch his breath. _Stay calm,_ he thought to himself again, forcing his mind to _stop panicking _and to _think_.

Simply running away was futile—Zaven would track him down before he had a chance to make another plan, and he would only run into the sea. _That _would only be useful if Halt were waiting for him. He was stuck on this island until he could confirm that Halt and the Skandians had come back for him_ or _he would have to successfully win his freedom.

Turning in his spot, Will looked behind him, studying the tracks he had left. Just as he expected, they were straight and true, deep footprints from his soft, leather-bottom boots that were only so deep because of how fast and desperately he'd been running. If that stopped now, Zaven would become suspicious.

Will would continue that trail, turning and placing his feet carefully back into his last footprints.

He took a deep breath.

Bolting in one direction, Will ran for a few meters before jumping upwards and latching onto a low-hanging branch. From there, he pulled himself into the tree canopy and doubled back the way he came. When he was about back where he had started, he carefully climbed down from the tree, making sure not to leave any obvious marks that might look like footprints. He put his feet back down into his old tracks once more, only to set off at a more calm pace in another direction. As he walked, he went in a series of loops—he doubled back on his trail over and over again, recalling everything from his apprenticeship with Halt. He could nearly hear the older Ranger badgering him, telling him that he was being too obvious, to walk lighter, to try something else. More than once Will found himself scaling trees only to go back along his trail and walk in a different direction.

As the sun finally set, Will found himself leg-weary and tired, his hands and face scraped up by the rough bark and hanging branches from the trees on the island. He was on some ridge near the edge of the island, the trees thick and tall overlooking the ocean. It would be ill-advised to continue traveling in the dark, so he chose a spot in the trees, high above where any normal person would look. From this spot, he'd be able to watch for an approaching wolfship, but also keep an eye out for Zaven. Stretching out on one of the more sturdy, high branches, Will closed his eyes, centering himself solely on the feel of the tree swaying beneath him and the smell of ocean water. He could hear the waves crashing on the shore far below his vantage point, the rustle of the forest in the wind. It was soothing, almost as if he weren't stuck on an island with a man who hunted people for sport.

As he listened to the sounds of the forest around him, the thought of rest and sleep in a place he was comfortable with lulled him into half-consciousness. Zaven hadn't been trained as a Ranger, only as a military general and hunter. Maybe they were similar in some respects, Will told himself, but even Will would become frustrated with the trails he'd left behind. In addition to that, he'd traveled large portions of his journey up in the trees, making sure to not leave marks on the bark where Zaven could see it.

Will leaned back against the trunk of the tree, satisfied that he'd left a confusing and complicated enough of a trail that Zaven wouldn't find him that night. Only the devil himself could know where Will was.

The night crawled slowly, achingly by, and Will found that, despite his exhaustion, he couldn't sleep. The forest was nearly dead silent around him, with only the waves and distant sounds of small animals making their way to his ears. As the sky was beginning to lighten, the midnight black turning to gray, something … different … woke Will from his haze.

A startled bird, squawking and flying into the sky. A broken branch, snapping only a few meters away from the base of Will's tree.

Will's eyes snapped open. He remained still, not letting his body move despite the instinct to get up and _run._ He didn't have his cloak, left behind in the ocean, but even just remaining still and trusting in _nature _and _his training _should be enough.

Below him, something came from the brush, coming from the direction of Will's winding red-herring of a trail. Staying absolutely still, Will watched from the corner of his eyes as a body slipped from the darkness.

General Zaven.

His eyes were pinned to the ground, something that confused Will. He had made his way here in the trees, so Zaven was either tracking based off the direction of one of his trails, the debris from the trees, or a complete guess. Either way, Will noticed immediately the presence of the small, high-powered crossbow in the man's grasp.

Zaven paused, just at the base of Will's tree. He knelt at the roots, studying something that Will couldn't see from his spot. He didn't dare move though, not with the man right below him. Silently, Zaven shook his head a few times before standing again, reaching into his pocket for something. He slung his crossbow behind his back, leaning over his hands as he fiddled with something. Will saw a spark, and then a pungent, deep smell from the cigar floated up to Will, nearly choking him. He held his breath.

The general stepped away from Will's tree, studying the area around them with a practiced eye. Then, the man turned and stared directly at the trunk of Will's tree. As he watched, Zaven's gaze traveled up the trunk, going inch by inch. Everything in Will's body told him to bolt, told him to _get out of there—_but his training and Halt's insistent voice inside his head told him to stay still. To not move a hair's breadth.

Zaven's eyes stopped only a few layers from where Will lay. The man smiled, oddly, before deliberately taking a deep drag from his cigar. He blew out a perfect smoke ring. Then, without another glance at the tree, Zaven turned his back on Will, and disappeared into the shadows of the forest just as the sun broke from the horizon. As Will listened, he could hear the distant sound of the general's boots moving away from him. This time, he wasn't even trying to mask his footsteps.

Will let out the breath he'd been holding, shaken from his close call. He might've been up in the tree, far from the hunter, but if Zaven was any good with his crossbow, that wouldn't have been a problem. He had barely made it through the night without being caught, and he had only survived for one reason.

He was saving Will for another night's sport.

Thinking quickly, Will slipped down the side of the trunk. Darting backwards, Will followed along the generals trail a few meters. Before long, he came upon what he knew would be there—a dead tree trunk, leaning up against a healthy, live tree. Without hesitation, Will dropped his satchel of food to the floor and pulled his saxe from his sheath. Stabbing down into the trunk, Will began working.

Around an hour later, with the sun slowly rising behind him, Will stepped back to examine his handy-work. It wasn't his best, but it would still do the job.

Heading back along the trail, Will ducked behind a fallen tree halfway between his original hiding spot and his trap. He laid with his sack of food along his side, and fell still.

Moments later, Will heard the steady pace of Zaven making his way back along the track. No doubt the man had left to make Will _think_ that he had gotten away, only to return some time later to catch him with his pants down. From his vantage point, Will watched from a small hole underneath the log as Zaven made his way along the track. Nothing escaped the man's black eyes, not any part of Will's track went unnoticed by him. _Except_ the small bough trigger, even as the general's foot touched down on it. Just as he touched it, the man seemed to sense the danger he was in, throwing himself to the side just as the dead tree, delicately adjusted on the live tree, came crashing down. He wasn't unstoppable though—the trunk crashed against his shoulder, striking a glancing blow on his shoulder just as he dove out of the way. He staggered, but didn't fall … nor did he drop his crossbow.

Stiffly, Zaven stood up straight, looking at the forest around him. Using his free hand, he rubbed his injured shoulder. Then, he started to laugh.

Will held his breath, fear gripping his heart. He hadn't stopped Zaven, and here he was, only a few meters from him … laughing.

"Ranger Will," Zaven said loudly, making his voice carry. "If you are within the sound of my voice, which I'm assuming you are, I must congratulate you. Not many know how to make a trap of such design, something I've only seen east of Skandia, in the Eastern Steppes. Luckily for me, I've hunted there. You sure are proving to be an interesting specimen, Will, especially since you mentioned having not traveled much before. You Rangers are always surprising me, in one way or another. I am going to have my wound dressed—it's only a slight one. But I _will _be back. I _will."_

And with that, the general was gone.

* * *

Will made his way through the dense foliage of the other side of the island, using his returned saxe knife to cut his way through. He knew it would leave marks, but he knew that creating distance was more important at the moment. He still took to the trees here and there when the floor of the forest got too thick, but they were also tangled up above, making it nearly impossible for him to travel at all.

When the general had first left, Will had done something somewhat stupid: he'd gotten up and immediately bolted. The food bag he'd been giving jumping up and bouncing on his back, making plenty of racket in the silent forest. It was a desperate, hopeless flight, one that carried Will for more than a few hours. When dusk came, he slowed, finally pounding some logic into his mind. He pressed on at a steady walk, even as the ground grew soft under his soft leather boots and the vegetation grew so thick that he had pulled out his saxe.

Taking another step, Will's foot suddenly sunk down into the mud of the ground. Panicking, Will jerked backwards, trying to wrench his foot out of the sinkhole. With one, final giant effort, Will yanked his foot backwards, finally pulling his foot loose and stumbling back.

Looking back up, the young Ranger saw a wide, swamp-looking area that looked like a death-trap. Large portions of it where covered in odd patched of sand that looked wet but to the point that it looked like water.

Death Swamp.

Studying the immediate area around him, thoughts flew through Will's mind. He made a decision. It was a stupid decision, probably one that would get him killed, but

Instead of going around the swamp, Will walked around the area, looking for a stop of equal amounts hard and soft, hopefully already low compared to the rest of the land. He found a small ravine not too far from where he had stumbled into the swamp, parts of the quicksand slopping down the sides. Will's expert eyes studied the sides of the ravine, the way the sand dropped into the area. He looked up and around him, noticing plenty of dead trees with fallen branches.

He got to work.

First, he dug the sand that had come into the gorge out—he needed a steep drop and the sand prevented that. Packing the edge, he made sure to keep the look natural. As he worked, the small ravine grew slightly deeper, the walls just high enough that Will was too short to pull himself out. He wasn't concerned, though—he'd climbed sleeker walls than this. Once he was out, he pulled himself up into the trees, once again traversing the area in the branches instead of bothering to clear his tracks. As he moved, he broke some thicker branches from the trees, also reaching down and collecting the dead branches and saplings that hadn't survived. When he'd collected a good amount of branches, he headed back to the ravine. He tossed the branches down into them from his spot in the trees, before making his way down the trunk and into the pit. Once again pulling his saxe out, Will worked at sharpening the branches and saplings to fine points, sticking them into the fine layer of mud at the bottom of the ravine with the points up.

After all that work, Will pulled himself up and out of the gorge, looking back down at his handiwork. It was nearly completely dark, but it was missing one last thing … He didn't have time to make anything, so instead he used the remains of his branches, lashing them together with weeds and stretching them across the ravine. From that, he collected more weeds, branches, leaves, and other loose foliage, throwing them over the lattice work and covering the pit as best as he could. Looking down at it … it was a mediocre disguise at best. But if someone wasn't _looking _for it … it could pass muster.

The sound of padding feet on soft earth told Will that he was out of time—his pursuer was coming, and a light breeze brought the ungodly scent of Zaven's choice cigars to his nose. The footsteps were coming fast, faster than how he'd been traveling last night, which told Will that his trap might work.

Swiftly, Will moved to the other side of the ravine, ducking into more weeds and making sure his feet didn't slip into more of the quicksand. He stayed low, his eyes barely able to see through the weeds to where he knew the general would emerge. Will waited.

The shrubs moved and a dark blur moved forward, a heavy foot falling on the carpet of weeds that Will had spread out. There was a loud crack, an inhuman yelp, and then a thud.

Will jerked back from his spot, shocked at the noise but also elated that it had worked. He jumped up from his spot, wanting to check if the pit had killed the general or—

Zaven stood a meter from the opening of the pit, hands empty except for part of a leather cord that looked to have been cut.

The man nodded. "You've done well, Will," the general said, considering him with narrowed eyes from across the ravine. There was no doubt that the man could kill him here and now—his crossbow was over his shoulder, but if he was a skilled hunter as he said, it would be nothing to sling it around his front and shoot Will where he stood. But instead, Zaven nodded again. "Your pit seems to have claimed one of my best dogs. I think that's another score in your favor, Ranger. I think …" he paused, considering his next words. His eyes never left Will though. "I think I'll see what you can do against my whole pack. I'm going home for a rest, now. Thank you for the most _amusing _evening."

With that, General Zaven turned his back on Will and disappeared into the foliage, leaving behind the corpse of a large, black dog impaled on the stakes below.

* * *

After moving to the other side of the swamp, Will collapsed to the ground, exhaustion overtaking him. Before he let himself fall into unconsciousness, though, Will pulled himself up a tree, the largest one he could find in the area. He climbed halfway up the trunk, found the sturdiest branch and then was out.

The next morning, Will was awoken a sound that made his blood go cold.

It was still distant, but unmistakable: the baying of a pack of hounds.

Will weighed his options. He could stay where he was and wait. The dogs wouldn't get him, but Zaven most definitely would. Remaining in spot was suicide. His other option was to flee, which would only postpone the inevitable. He sat on his branch, thinking. An idea that held a wild chance held his interest, and after weighing it against his other options, he made a decision.

Standing, Will tightened his knife belt and loosened his collar. While it had been frustrating to be without his bow and cloak, he suddenly realized that it was a blessing considering what he was about to do.

Will dropped from the tree, nothing bothering to be careful about making sounds or leaving tracks. Instead, he did what he'd wanted to do from the very beginning—he bolted.

The baying of the hounds drew closer to him, out pacing him no matter how fast he ran. When he made it to a ridge, Will climbed a tree. Looking back the way he came, towards the mansion, he could see a group coming down a small stream. The lean figure of Zaven marched behind them, while a group of dogs ran ahead of him, pulling a large figure behind them—Toros. Toros was handling the dogs while Zaven got the easy task of following behind and taking the credit for any of their kills.

How was that hunting? How was that fair?

They would be on him eventually, probably within the next few minutes. Will's mind sped, thinking through his options, what he could do to slow them. He thought of a trick he'd learned while traveling in Gallica, one Halt had told him was useless and a waste of tools. But it was all Will had at the moment.

He slid down the tree and caught hold of a springy sapling. Once again using weeds, Will lashed his throwing knife to the top of it, the blade pointing down the trail. With a bit of vine and more weeds, he tied the sapling back.

Then, he ran for his life.

The hounds barking were nearly at his heels now, a fresh scent hitting their expert noises. Will know now how an animal at bay felt.

Will stopped to catch his breath. The baying of the hounds stopped abruptly, and Will's heart stopped with it. They must have reached his knife.

Instead of continuing his run, Will decided to take the risk and climb up another tree. He looked back along his path to see that his pursuers had stopped. But any hope that it had hit Zaven were killed when Will started climbing down, only to see the figure of the general making his way through a valley, not too far from Will's location. Toros was nowhere to be see.

The trap hadn't failed—it had just hit the wrong target.

Will's feet had barely touched the ground when the pack took up their baying again.

"Come _on," _Will panted, sprinting away. Just in front of him, he could see a blue gap in between the trees right in front of him. As the dogs drew closer and closwer, Will pushed himself towards that gap. He burst through it, finding himself on a ledge, a twenty foot drop to the sea below him. The waves crashed against the wall of the island, telling Will that, more than likely, he'd be thrown against the wall and his body shattered before he could even think about moving.

The dogs broke out of the trees behind him.

Will jumped, seeing a shadow out in the sea before him and knew this was his only chance.

* * *

When Zaven and his pack reached the cliff by the sea, he stopped. For a few minutes, he stood regarding the blue-green ocean before him. There was a ship a mile or so from the shore, but other than that he saw nothing. He shrugged his shoulders, sitting down to take a quick shot of brandy from his flask. He lit a cigar, and hummed a short tune.

Zaven had a brilliant dinner in his dining hall that evening. With his dinner he opened another bottle of fine, imported wine from Sonderland. Two slight annoyances kept him from perfect enjoyment of his night, though. One was the thought that it would be difficult to replace Toros—the other was that his quarry had escaped him. He nor the prey had won, it had simply escaped. The Ranger hadn't played the game. In his library later that night, he read to sooth himself. At ten he went up to his bedroom. He was so tired, he thought to himself, as he locked himself in. There was very little moonlight in the room, so, before lighting a candle, he went to the window and looked down into the courtyard, He could see his hounds, and he called to them. "Better luck next time." Then he lit the candle.

A man, short of stature and lean, was hiding behind the curtains of his bed.

"Ranger Will!" yelled Zaven, shocked to find his lost quarry in his room. "How did you get in here?"

Will shrugged his shoulders, frowning as he studied the room around him. "Swam," he said, despite being completely dry. "I found it quicker than walking through the damned forest with you at my heels."

Zaven sucked in a breath, smiling. "I congratulate you," he said. "You seemed to have won the game."

Will smiled too, but it never reached his eyes. "I am still a beast at bay, Zaven," he said, his lip curling. "Get ready, _my friend_."

The Iberion made a deep bow. "I see," he said. "Of course! One of us is to supply a meal for my hounds, the other will sleep in this excellent bed. On guard, Ranger …"

…

Will had never slept in a better bed, he decided.


End file.
